Invisible Bravery
by RussianWolf7
Summary: Harry goes for nightly walks, and someone starts following him. Harry tries to smoke them out, and they end up stuck in the Forbidden Forest together. Drarry silly fluff!


**A/N:** Hey guys! So I know it's not a Monday, but here's the thing: this is my last short one-shot, and after that are three mini-novellas that are multi-chaptered, etc. (I accidentally did NaNoWriMo because of one of them. That's a pretty awesome thing to do by accident.) Since they're multi-chaptered, but not as long as Ostriches, I'm going to do a MWF publishing schedule for those guys. And, since I have OCD and I want to start on a Monday and don't want to wait another week and a half to start publishing _Unknown Effects_, I decided to put this guy up early.

This is based on a prompt from **LittleThingsToMakeYouSmile**. She is so wonderful and fantastic, I couldn't be happier to write something for her. And for the rest of you, of course! Enjoy your surprise Friday fic :)

**Invisible Bravery**

From the first day of his eighth year Harry had been wandering the halls of Hogwarts at night. At first it was bittersweet and melancholy; he was drawn to the Astronomy Tower, he paced the circle he and Voldemort had walked in the Great Hall, he looked up at the stone soldiers who hadn't been destroyed. Only a few had escaped completely unscathed—most were missing an arm, part of a leg, a chink of armor or, in a few unsettling cases, entire heads. Still, here they stood, ready to defend the castle at a moment's notice.

These routes would have him in bed by one or two and asleep no earlier than four or five. He didn't cry, not mostly, but the memories were bad enough. Every morning when he woke sleep-short, irritable and depressed he wondered why he had bothered to come back at all. Yes, there was a letter in the drawer of his bedside table from the Ministry, granting him the job of Auror if he got his N.E.W.T.s, and that was certainly a wise course to take. But Quidditch…if he played professionally, he wouldn't need any test scores, and his world would no longer be filled with dark wizards. Hell, he could go work for George and just forget the war had ever happened.

But the letter, written to him personally from Kingsley Shacklebolt, tugged at him. _We need you_, it whispered. _There's more work to be done_. No doubt true; only Hermione kept up with the _Prophet_ these days, but she shared any important information with them. There wasn't a real resistance against the current regime but there were certainly a few wizards who remained loyal to Voldemort, who were dangerous and elusive, whose existence burned at Harry. Maybe Quidditch later, maybe the joke shop later, but as long as there were dark wizards to fight, he'd be on the front lines.

Slowly, as the weeks ticked by, Harry broke away from the familiar haunts. He went without the Marauder's Map, even though he no longer cared where he was going. He had its lines memorized, every corridor, classroom and tower committed to memory. He didn't bring the Invisibility Cloak either. He had yet to run into Filch, the one time he had seen a professor it had been Headmistress McGonagall and she had passed him with nothing more than a nod of recognition, and yes, there were a few other students wandering the halls at night but they ignored each other. These nightly walks, they were quietly cathartic. Harry had no business nosing into his friend's business, even if Neville stood on the spot he had beheaded Nagini, or if he found Ron and Ginny silently crying in the Great Hall, mourning the loss of their brother. They talked about it during the day, sometimes, or at night in the dormitory with all the lights off, but not in the wee hours of the morning, not when they met by accident.

As Harry's walks moved away from the Battle, the number of students he saw dropped dramatically. The castle was healing, the students were coming back to themselves, and the need to relive those awful moments was gone. Even Harry felt, if not exactly at calm or better, somewhat peaceful. He could admire the view from the Astronomy Tower without seeing Dumbledore's body falling. He could eat in the Great Hall without his stomach crawling. The stone armor returned to decoration rather than a defense system. He would never forget, would never fill the hole so much loss had created, but he might be able to come to terms with it.

So he moved on. Visits to the Astronomy Tower were still fairly regular, but more and more he just went wherever his feet took him. He'd go outside sometimes, stop by the Whomping Willow with a sad smile, dip his feet into the Black Lake (these walks were always barefoot, though he couldn't say why), circle the Quidditch pitch he was no longer allowed to play on—no eighth years, it had been decided, it wouldn't be fair. Sometimes just lie on the grass and watch the stars. He was getting quite good at picking out constellations: Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, Cassiopeia, Draco. He tried to avoid that last one whenever he could, but his eyes were constantly drawn back to the cluster of stars, creating a weird, bubbling, not-entirely-pleasant-or-unpleasant feeling in his stomach. One night he had fallen asleep like this, and had missed breakfast, half of lunch and all of his morning classes by mistake, never mind causing Hermione to throw a fit and demand that he never disappear again like that, _never_.

As the term moved along the walks started to get colder and colder. At first he just added a Weasley sweater to his pajamas, then denim instead of thin cotton, and finally, around the beginning of November, his cloak. He never bothered with shoes, even when he was walking on frost-covered grass or the stones of the castle were so cold it hurt. It was part of the ritual, had cemented its place in his nightly walks, if for no other reason it gave him something to think about, something to focus on. These walks were to clear his mind, to relieve any pent-up stress from the day, the week, the bloody _year_. If cold feet were the worst thing that happened, that was perfectly okay with him.

And then, the third week of November, Harry's walks changed entirely.

At first it bothered him. A lot. These were _his_ walks, his _personal, private_ walks. Bumping into someone for a second or two was one thing; being tailed was another entirely. He knew the exact day it had started, too: the Monday before St. Andrew's Day. Whoever it was had very talented, very quiet feet, and he almost hadn't noticed, but after everything he had been through, knowing when he was being tracked was a highly honed skill. His stalker was skilled at other things, too, like staying hidden, opening and closing doors as Harry tried changed direction, and, on one memorable occasion, following him across open ground. That was miserable, the grass frozen completely beneath his bare feet, but he had to know who it was, and he wasn't going to just turn around and see for himself.

On St. Andrew's Day it officially turned into a sort of game. Harry watched carefully how much was eaten by whom, who would be light enough to follow him even after such a feast. It was easier than he'd thought; a lot of students had gone home for the long weekend, and those who stayed behind were seated at one table, like the Christmas table. That almost made his observation unnecessary, as the odds of the person being here were very small, but just in case they were, he would keep a food tally.

Halfway through the meal he realized it was not only unnecessary but also irrelevant. Everyone, himself included, stuffed themselves on the feast the house elves had provided. It was the best meal of the year, and Harry decided to just sit back, eat, and talk with his friends, those who remained. Ron and Hermione had gone to the Burrow—he had been invited, of course, but had gotten himself too wrapped up in this tailing business to want to leave. Neville had stayed, though, and they had a great time of it. It wasn't often they hung out just the two of them, and Harry realized how much he enjoyed his fellow Gryffindor. He was absolutely positive Neville wasn't the culprit; he was honest and forward and wouldn't keep something like that to himself.

Harry had never suspected Neville at all, it was just a testament to his obsession that he felt the need to rule him out. Those he thought were more likely—including the person he thought likeliest—were, in fact, at the dinner table, but he was eating well, and would be in no position to be quiet and nimble tonight. Harry had to remind himself once again that there was no reason the sudden following wouldn't stop just as abruptly, or that the stalker hadn't gone home for the holiday, or a hundred other things that made this experiment absolutely pointless. Potentially embarrassing as well, given how his eyes kept darting to that one person, sitting by themselves at the far end of the table, eating neatly and carefully and, still, quite a lot. Harry had no idea how much that person usually ate, but given his slight figure, it couldn't be this much. The St. Andrew's Day Feast was huge and delicious and demanded overeating. Harry thought it very silly that a random Thursday was suddenly cause for celebration, and that so many students had taken it so seriously, but he wasn't about to complain.

"Harry," Neville asked quietly, keeping his eyes on his plate. "I don't know why you're staring at Malfoy, but it's really obvious, and you should probably stop."

Harry didn't even blink. "I'm not staring at him," he said calmly, taking a bit of salmon. "I was just zoning out."

"No," Neville replied, quietly and firmly. He had a bit of a smile, in fact. "Definitely staring at him."

"Stop being daft," Harry said irritably. "I am not. I'm enjoying St. Andrew's Day with you, and musing on Muggle politics and bank holidays and why Hogwarts is celebrating them at all."

"Extra relaxing time, given last year," Neville replied. "Weren't you listening when the announcement was made?"

"Guess not." He looked at the clock. Seven. Merlin this evening was going to be long. He didn't usually start his walks until eleven or twelve, and he couldn't change routine, not now, not in the middle of everything. He would catch whoever it was sooner or later, but if he could manage this weekend when the castle was mostly empty, all the better. He didn't think his stalker would deviate from routine, either, so if he was tailed tonight, that cut the school population down by a quarter or so. Unless the person was clever enough to wait until everyone was back. Which, seeing how clever his follower had been so far, was not a stretch.

He was giving this too much thought. Time to eat, enjoy Neville's company, and take in the quietness. While he wished for Ron and Hermione and Luna, having the castle this empty was wonderful. It was almost like his walks, only without a mysterious person following him.

After the feast Harry, Neville and a few other, younger Gryffindors returned to the Tower. He and Neville sat in the common room together, half-heartedly working on homework, eating candy left over from a particularly fun potions class, and just sitting back and enjoying their holiday. Harry ended up taking a nap on the couch, which was particularly rejuvenating. His walks had always interfered with his sleep to some extent, but in an attempt to smoke out whoever was following him he had been out later and later each night, hoping to force a retreat. It hadn't worked, and had just left him exhausted.

When Harry woke up, he found that Neville had covered him with a throw and gone to bed. He stretched and glanced at the clock.

"Bloody hell!" he yelled, jumping off the couch, wrapping the throw around himself in lieu of a cloak and set out. It was already one; would whoever it was have waited this long, or would they have given up hours ago? He paced the corridor obviously and loudly, hoping to provoke or potentially wake up whoever was or wasn't waiting for him. Then he started off in earnest, making the Astronomy Tower his first stop. If they hadn't been by Gryffindor Tower, this was as close to a guess as he had.

As soon as he stepped onto the platform he realized how inadequately he was dressed. Socks but no shoes, jeans, at least, instead of pajamas, but a short-sleeved shirt and a woven throw. The thing was, the common room was always warm, and he and Neville had been sitting right in front of the fireplace, and he had slowly shed his shoes, oversized Weasley jumper and flannel as the night had worn on. It was snowing, and he was in a tee shirt and socks. Excellent.

The view, however, was magnificent. The grounds were covered in a light dusting of snow, the Lake starting to ice over around the edges, the moon bright and clear.

And then, very quietly, a shuffle.

Harry smiled to himself. He was not alone. It occurred to him how terrifying that would have been last year, and now it was a game, played between him and a mystery person. He continued to look out at the view for a few minutes, not wanting to betray he knew the other person was here, and then left, walking silently down the staircase, listening for any other noises. Very, very quiet footsteps. Shoes, he was nearly certain, but that meant nothing, as the rest of the student population wasn't daft enough to go around in socks.

He wandered randomly throughout the castle, turning arbitrarily, taking one staircase up only to immediately descend two, stopping by the kitchen for a freshly baked scone, down to the dungeons, then back up to the Front Hall. He considered. Going outside could be interesting. Would his follower leave footprints? If not, they'd be using a kind of magic Harry had never heard of. Still, the question tugged at him. Footprints or no footprints? He had to find out.

"_Calceatus_," Harry whispered, turning his socks into shoes. The obvious disadvantage to this was that he was no longer wearing socks and not only were his feet colder but they rubbed uncomfortably against the trainers. He considered transfiguring the blanket into a sweater, but he didn't think it would be warmer. So, wrapping it tighter around himself, he walked out the front door, leaving it open a crack, just enough to let someone through.

He walked towards the Quidditch pitch. He'd have an excuse to circle around there, he always walked in circles around the field, there would be nothing to give away his real intentions. He wouldn't have long to do this, he was quickly realizing as his ankles grew colder and colder and the blanket offered no resistance to the wind.

Maybe longer than he had thought, though. The field was enchanted to melt any snow that touched the ground, and at ground level, the stands offered some protection against the wind. The first circuit warmed him as well; the need to see about footprints was so strong adrenaline kicked in, shooting warmth throughout him. He kept his eyes up, refusing to do so much as glance down until he came to the entrance.

Harry stopped, though he didn't think that was suspicious. It looked as if he were deciding whether or not to leave, and not equal parts disappointed and excited about the lack of footprints. He had heard his stalker follow him outside—the door had creaked slightly, against the wind—and Harry was certain they were close. Had he not followed been followed into the field? Was the person they just outside, waiting for him? He glanced outside, once more pretending to contemplate where he'd go next. A single set of footprints led to the entrance.

His heart jumped. This person was very clever indeed. Hovering a few inches above the ground? Enchanting their shoes to leave no trace? How—

_Ah,_ Harry thought with a smile. His footprints were there, yes, but they were smudged slightly, as if someone walking behind and just next to him had wiped the ground behind them. Less exciting than a levitation charm, certainly, but at least he knew what was going on. A spell that erased any footprints, cast in a wide enough circle that it had disturbed his own.

He leaned against one of the supports and glanced back into the field, then mentally smacked himself—no snow, no footprints. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them in an attempt to warm them. This had been an interesting idea, but still a very cold one. Another idea struck and he knelt down to investigate his shoes, just to make sure they were holding up and not returning to knit socks. Head down, he scanned the snow just in front of the field. If the footprint-removing spell was retroactive and his follower was outside, Harry ought to be able to see the indents of their footprints.

But no, of course not. This person was clever, he had already established that, and wherever his shadow was, it was not in the snow. Below the stands, probably. Maybe just a touch away, Harry had no way to tell. The ground was frozen solid, ideal for sneaking around. If Harry made any sort of sudden, cursory movement would give himself away, and the game would be over. He stood back up and leaned against the pole again, this time actually trying to decide on a course of action. He considered putting himself in danger so the person would have to come out of hiding, but—obviously enough—that seemed dangerous. He was in no hurry to put himself at risk, not even to abate his curiosity. His eyes flicked around as he looked for inspiration.

Oh.

Hmm.

Harry could go into the Forbidden Forest. He wasn't afraid of it, not when he had seen the worst it had to offer and had triumphed. Maybe the person trailing him was, which would give him some information. More likely, they'd have a much harder time staying silent with leaves on the ground and narrow paths. He wasn't sure if there would be snow on the ground or not, but snow or leaves, either would be informative. And the trees would protect him from the wind.

He set off. The walk was painfully long, and when he finally crossed into the forest, he breathed a sigh of relief. The wind dropped significantly, and much to his delight, there was a light dusting of snow, light enough there were still dead, crunchy leaves poking through. Would the sweeping spell make a sound on the leaves? Would they move noticeably? Had he intimidated his follower into retreat? He hoped not. He was having fun.

Harry took out his wand and muttered, "_Lumos_." Armed with light he set off, moving slowly at first, listening for any crunching or sweeping. He quickly realized how stupid that had been. _He _was crunching. Anyone else would be masked by his own movements. He'd have to devise a sudden reason to stop then, to try and trick his follower into walking while he remained still. He could just stop, of course, but that would be cheating.

He wondered how up to date he was on nonverbal spells. He had never been one to use them, but he had learned back in sixth year, and he had practiced, and they had occasionally come in handy on the road. Still walking, he thought _Nox_ as hard as he could. His wandlight immediately went out. He smiled.

Harry stopped suddenly. "What?" he muttered, tapping his wand against his palm as if it had a faulty battery. And yes, he was nearly certain he heard a footstep, just one, just for a split second. "What the hell?" he said again, a bit louder. "_Lumos!"_ His wand flared into brightness. He continued to inspect his wand, looking for some reason it might have stopped working. He pointed it at a dead branch and said, "_Reducto_." The branch exploded. "_Protego_." A protection spell shimmered into existence. "_Accio _rock." The rock flew into his hand. "Huh," he mused, as if he hadn't caused the "mistake" himself. "Should probably get going, then," he said to himself. Did he talk to himself? Did other people know that? He had no idea. He turned and walked back to the edge of the forest. He thought he might have felt something brush against him with his first step back, but he couldn't tell, not for sure.

Suddenly, without warning, he slammed full-force into thin air. He let out a surprised yelp, stumbled back a few paces, grabbing out for anything to hold onto. There was nothing and he fell back. Against something solid. Well, that was one way to play the game. He didn't think the person trailing him was responsible for the barrier, thought it was always possible, but he did think it likely he had accidentally fallen on them. He stayed where he was, very still. He was sitting on shoes. He was sure of it.

So he didn't move, despite the fact that would be the rational response. Instead he picked up a rock and threw it. It bounced off where he had hit. The tree line, the line separating forest from grounds. There was a blue flash where the rock struck, then nothing. A protection spell, then. He knew security had tightened since last year, but it hadn't occurred to him he wouldn't be able to leave the forest.

The game was forgotten for a moment. How long would he be stuck out here? He was freezing, his arse was wet from sitting in snow, and the longer he sat still, the more exhausted he realized he was. The nap had helped, yes, but he had been so chronically sleep short a few hours did virtually nothing. He could walk over to Hagrid's and scream for help, but he didn't know if sound could penetrate the barrier. Eventually Hagrid would come around back to check on the Christmas trees he had planted a few weeks ago, but Harry had no idea how often he did that, or whether they would block Hagrid's view.

Well. This was brilliant.

Harry thought it might be time to end the game. Whoever he was with, they were stuck together, and maybe between the two of them they could come up with a way to escape. At the very least, he'd have someone to share body heat with. The person hadn't moved, probably hadn't dared to in case Harry hadn't realized he was sitting on shoes, and Harry was just barely brushing against shins. Cold shins, yes, but still warmer than the surrounding air.

Then again, the game was fun, and he was stuck. Maybe he should keep it going; it'd give him something to do. "Goddammit," he said, more for the benefit of whoever was behind him. "Well. Shit." He checked his pockets for something useful but came up with a few spare Knuts and a lollypop from that potions class. "Brilliant. Stuck in the woods, in the snow, in a tee shirt, and my entire supplies consists of coins and a lollypop. A linty lollypop. Whoever this St. Andrews person is, clearly he's a prat." He thought he might have heard restrained laughter, but again, he wasn't completely sure. That gave him an idea—try to get his follower to laugh.

First, though, he wanted the lollypop.

Harry gathered a handful of snow, careful not to let the shoes escape from under him, that was just too excellent to change, and wiped off the candy. He inspected it closely, holding it and the wandlight up to his face. It seemed fairly clean. He tentatively licked it. Still tasted like pocket. He repeated the process. Now it tasted like cold pocket. This might be a loosing battle. Still, he tried once more. _Very_ cold pocket. He stared at the lollypop in frustration. He had momentarily forgotten about being stuck and about the person he was trapped with. He wanted the lollypop. He had made the damned thing in potions, and he wanted it.

"_Aguamenti_," Harry said, carefully pointing the jet of water away from himself and only on the candy. The water hit the invisible wall and splashed back. "Fuck!" he yelled, instinctually jerking backwards. There was a muffled _oof _from behind him as he slammed into the shins. He still got wet, but he had discerned the gender of his follower to be male. He could also safely guess that the follower knew Harry knew he was there. Harry wasn't sure what to do with that information.

He licked the lollypop again. Finally. Cold, almost completely frozen, but it once again tasted like watermelons. He stuck the candy in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, trying to warm it up. He probably shouldn't be eating it at all, it would only make him hungry and cold, but he had won the right, dammit.

Harry trained the light on his legs. He had been sitting cross-legged, and his legs had been splashed from the knees up, knees taking the worst of the impact. They were completely soaked and clung to his body in a miserable manner. The rest of his legs were covered with droplets, pinpricks of freezing pain. He threw another rock at the wall, just in case it had changed its mind and he could go back inside and put on dry clothes. Nope.

"Fuck," he said again. He rubbed his knees, but that only pushed the fabric even closer. He knew warming spells existed, as well as drying spells, but that was more of Hermione's territory than his, and he couldn't think of a single one. Maybe he should try Hagrid's, despite the game. He bit back a smile. Not yet. The game was too fun.

Harry sighed dramatically. "Too bad Hermione's not here. She knows all about drying spells. Warming, too. She wouldn't be sitting here freezing her arse off, she'd be nice and dry and comfy while she figured out exactly what was keeping us hostage."

No response from his mystery guest.

"Maybe if I had paid more attention in potions, I'd know how to make a warming brew from whatever's around. Dead leaves, snow, bark, bushes. Herbology, too, that'd have been handy, so I could recognize the right ingredients. So let's see, ideal people to be stuck in the woods with on a snowy night, that'd be Hermione, Neville, and, hmm, I guess Malfoy, since he's good at potions."

Harry was really hoping for a response to that, but just silence.

"And myself, I guess. I'd protect us all from any forest monsters. Giant spiders, centaurs, giants, who knows what's in here. And if I _was_ with that group, no doubt Neville and Malfoy would be cowering in a corner." He chuckled, genuinely amused. "Blimey, I hadn't thought about it in years, when Malfoy and I were in the Forest first year. That was hilarious. Spineless twat."

He thought the shins might have shifted slightly, but he wasn't positive.

"Sure, sixth year, it was easy enough for him to take on someone invisible in an empty train, but out here, in the real world? He'd be toast."

_Come on_, Harry thought. _Come on, Malfoy, take the bait_. But there was still no response, and he decided he'd need to analyze his other forest-companions, so it didn't look suspicious.

"Neville, though, he'd be helpful. He'd know what we could eat, and make a feast of berries and nuts and bark and roots. Hermione would light a fire and we could roast chestnuts." Harry laughed a little. That really would be nice. He'd rather do it in the common room, but hey, anywhere with chestnuts and a fire was good enough for him. "Oh, to have a fire." He tried rubbing his knees again, but it still didn't help. He cupped his hands around them, hoping for some warmth, even though he could barely feel his fingers. "We'd even share with Malfoy, I'd imagine. Hermione would insist. Then again, we'd probably all be out of here by now if she were here. Goddammit, I _know_ there are ways through protection spells." That last bit was real, very real, and he tapped his wand angrily on the ground, thinking. "Why the bloody hell weren't we taught that in Defense? Merlin, of all the useless shit we go through, that'd be brilliant."

There was no response to this, but Harry hadn't expected one, especially once the act turned to a genuine rant. He leaned back without thinking about it, using the shins as a makeshift chair. He brought his legs up so only his shoes and his arse were touching the ground—why hadn't he thought of that earlier again?—and leaned his head back, as well.

"Good thing this tree is here," he said suddenly. He wasn't ready to end this game and even if that was the lamest excuse ever, at least it was something. Back to the game again, he had been trying to make his follower laugh. Retrospectively he thought the tree comment might have worked, except that it hadn't. What was funny? He wasn't good at funny. That was Ron's department.

"Ron should be here, too," he added, genuinely musing. "At least we'd all be laughing. I can't even entertain myself." He realized he could probably transfigure a rock into a deck of cards, but then he'd probably need fifty-two rocks, and that was a bit much. Plus then they'd get wet, and he'd have to lean forward to play anything, and he was both enjoying his backrest and keeping his follower captive.

A sudden flash of brilliance. "I can see the sky from here, at least. I think I'd go crazy if I was stuck in the heart of the forest. But I'm not, so really, there's no point in worrying about it. It's mostly cloudy, snowing and all, but there's that one crack, and, of course, that'd be Draco, peeking out from behind the clouds." He snorted derisively. "Malfoy would be pleased with that, seeing himself in the stars. Merlin, that'd be insufferable."

Fishing, fishing, fishing. No takers. Maybe it wasn't Malfoy, maybe he'd gotten himself worked up over nothing. Not that he was worked up. Or that he sort of wanted it to be Malfoy. Who would it be, then? Malfoy certainly had reason to, in a twisted sort of way, given that Harry hadn't let him out of his sight sixth year. Maybe Malfoy was getting revenge, letting him know how incredibly annoying it was. But, wait, he was thinking about if it wasn't Malfoy. He ran through the students at dinner. He thought it was probably someone in his year; he was certainly followed around by younger admirers, but they stuck to daylight, and tended to rove in packs. This behavior was entirely different.

So, eighth years at dinner. There weren't many. Himself, Neville, Malfoy, Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones, which seemed extremely unlikely, Michael Corner, who was even less so, and—and was that really it? Bloody hell, St. Andrew must be one popular guy.

In any case, that left Malfoy. Harry was quite certain.

That was…Good? Bad? He didn't know. It was interesting, at least. He really needed to know _why_ he was being followed, that was the thing. If Malfoy was just getting him back, then the game was pointless. If he was looking for something against Harry, he was going to be disappointed. He was done breaking rules, at least mostly. He was done with the drama. He wanted to sit back quietly and let his final year pass. If he felt inclined to take midnight walks, that was his business. There was nothing Malfoy could do with that information, not when the Headmistress already knew and approved.

What, exactly, would he think Harry was doing anyway? Harry had followed Malfoy because he thought he was doing something bad, doing something Death Eater-y, and he had been. Over the past, say, six months he had come to the conclusion that Malfoy wasn't really a Death Eater, that he had been forced into his position by his parents and Voldemort. Maybe just Voldemort, he didn't know. He felt bad for him, actually, for what he had been forced to do. But before he had known that, it was crucial to keep an eye on him, even if he hadn't found out what Malfoy was doing until it was too late. Back to the point, Harry was certainly not a Death Eater, and hadn't done a single suspicious thing all year.

Except his nightly walks.

But those weren't suspicious, they just relieved stress. Of course Malfoy didn't know that but really, what did he think Harry was up to? He had asked that question about three times in as many minutes, but it was as ridiculous as it was important.

Setting aside that question, just for a moment, why else would Malfoy be following him? What could he possibly have to gain from the situation? Maybe he was just bored, and needed something to fill his time. He was the only eighth year Slytherin; maybe this was a bizarre way of finding companionship, even if it was a one way, supposedly unknown friendship. Now that he thought about it, that didn't seem _too_ unlikely. Strange, yes, but Malfoy had always been strange.

Anyway. Harry was supposed to be—what was it again? Trying to make him laugh? Force Malfoy into acknowledging his own presence? Goad him into performing a warming and a drying spell? Poke the bear?

"It's too bad Malfoy isn't here," Harry mused. "Maybe he'd realize us Gryffindors are real people, deserving of the same cordialness as Slytherins. Maybe, if he was nice enough—that is a big maybe, though, he is Malfoy after all—he'd realize we'd like to be his friends. That we feel bad he's the only one of his year in his house. Maybe it's just me, I dunno." He sighed. "I'd be lonely."

His ears were tuned in to the space behind him, but he didn't hear anything. Merlin, what would it take to get that boy to open up?

"It's not like I still blame him," Harry continued, still trying to make it seem as though he was talking to himself. "I forgave him months ago. But Merlin, he's so fucking _stubborn_, there's no way he'd believe me or, even if he did, that he'd come around. There wouldn't be a point in telling him we could be friends, he'd just laugh it off. Goddammit even when he's dropped the Death Eater act he's still impossible." Somewhere along the line the baiting had turned into an actual rant again, and he was starting to get angry. "Fuck, I'd really like to get on good terms with him, because really, why not, we're supposed to be a united wizarding world, I'd unite with him if only he wasn't such a fucking _ferret_.

"How would that conversation even go? 'Oh, hey Malfoy, I've been thinking, we really ought to drop this stupid rivalry and get along'. He doesn't have a fan club following him around anymore, I could just walk up to him. Merlin, though, what'd the point be? He's been civil this year, at least, and the last thing I need is to start that bollocks back up again. I just—fuck." Harry picked up a rock and threw it against the protection shield. It bounced back, right, he hadn't thought of that, and he ducked. It slammed into the shins and they jerked back. He was no longer sitting on shoes, he'd lost that warmth, nor did he have anything to lean against. And still, the damned person wouldn't talk.

"Stupid forest," Harry said, going back to the game. "That tree, disappearing on me like that. Guess I'll have to find another one." He shuffled over to a real tree and leaned against it. The bark was rough and the snow beneath it hadn't melted from body heat yet. "Dammit, this tree isn't nearly as comfortable." He heard quiet footsteps, sort of quiet, crunching leaves quiet, and then there was a much louder crunch, and Harry had to force himself not to look over, because that was part of the game. Still, he thought, he was sure, that someone had sat down next to him.

"If only there was someone else here," Harry said mournfully. "I'm so fucking cold. We could share my blanket, share body heat, and maybe we wouldn't freeze to death a couple hundred yards away from the warmth of the castle."

It worked. It actually worked. Malfoy must have been really bloody cold to even consider it, but there was a sudden warmth pressed against his side. Harry sighed in relief.

"Yeah, like that," he said. "Body heat, that's brilliant." He leaned forward, moving the throw so it was no longer around his back but draped over his front. "If there was someone here, as long as they didn't steal the blanket entirely, they'd be welcome to share it with me. I think, as long as we squished, we'd both have enough to keep us warm. And, seeing as how I'm in the Forbidden Forest, if that person was invisible, well, that wouldn't be too strange."

The throw moved. A corner was being tugged on and, whoops, now Harry was looking, watching as the throw pulled up and hovered in midair, the corner bent down over a shoulder-like shape. Harry moved closer to the invisible presence, making sure they each had as much of the blanket as they could. Harry nearly had a heart attack when something brushed against his hand. He jerked away, tightening his grip on his wand, and the invisible person moved away.

"If there was an invisible person next to me," Harry said, "and if they surprised me, I wouldn't have meant to move away, I would just be startled." For a moment nothing happened, and then the presence returned, and the warmth, and the throw was once again more evenly distributed. "I—if the person wanted to hold my hands, because of warmth, that'd be brilliant. It's bloody _cold_, and I need all the warmth I can get. Too bad there isn't anyone here to do such a thing."

Immediately the movement against his hand returned, two separate movements, one for each hand, and his empty hand was grasped immediately while the one holding his wand hesitated. Harry dropped his wand, letting it roll off his leg and to the side, and then his other hand was taken as well. The hands were cold, really cold, but he thought they'd warm up as they stayed with his. The hands had long fingers and even though Harry couldn't see them, he thought they were probably elegant and graceful, though it wasn't as if he knew exactly what Malfoy's hands looked like or anything.

"If there was an invisible person, I'd be impressed with their magic," Harry said. "I've done research into invisibility, and the only thing other than cloaks I could find was an extremely difficult potion." The hands, almost certainly involuntarily, squeezed. And that was it, definitely Malfoy. No need for further speculation.

"Before the rock incident, I think I was musing to myself about Malfoy," Harry said. He was feeling bold. He was cold and wet, and being able to talk to the person in question without acknowledging he was there was freeing. "Being friends with Malfoy would be nice, I guess. Having help in potions, showing the world friendship and reconciliation, that'd be good, and I guess I've sort of admired him, even though he's kind of a prick. Aside from that, though, he's clever, loyal, interesting—or confusing, I'm not sure, one of those—and gorgeous." Whoops. Again. He wasn't supposed to say that. "But mostly those other things."

Harry tried to get his thoughts in order. This was suddenly difficult and awkward. Hermione was the only one who knew about, well, feelings, feelings he didn't understand and wasn't going to act on and were entirely irrelevant and didn't understand and those things.

Harry yawned. "It's late. I'm tired. Goddammit I wanted to go for a simple walk, force whoever had been following me to tell me why, and then go to sleep in my bed. Is it really too much to ask for a bed instead of snow and leaves and a tree and what may or may not be an invisible person?" He leaned over, resting his head on an invisible shoulder. "Maybe, if there was an invisible person, they wouldn't mind putting an arm around my shoulders, since I'm wearing a tee shirt and it's snowing."

There was a pause, and then one of his hands was let go and an invisible arm wrapped an arm around him. Maybe it was just to keep him warm, as he'd said, but it had the added bonus of letting Harry lean against the invisible chest, which was much more comfortable than the tree. He reached up and held the hand again for warmth, and only warmth. He sighed, snuggling further against the invisible person. It was much easier to think of it as the invisible person than as Malfoy, because that might be weird, and it might be good, and he might have talked to Hermione about this—not this exact scenario, that would definitely be weird—and she might have encouraged him to follow his heart or something stupid like that.

"Still cold," Harry said. There was an annoyed huff and Harry was pushed away. "Hey!" he yelped, momentarily forgetting he wasn't acknowledging the invisible person who was not Malfoy. "What're you doing?"

Another huff. "Shut up, Potter."

And then a cloak was draped over the throw and it was considerably warmer than it should have been, no doubt due to a warming spell, and the invisible person who wasn't Malfoy pulled him back into his arms, resuming their previous position.

"Why were you following me?" Harry asked. He had been determined to talk only to himself, but if the invisible person who wasn't Malfoy started speaking, that changed the rules. Still a game, no doubt about it, but different rules.

"Shut up," the invisible person who wasn't Malfoy said. "I'm invisible. I'm not here. So shut it."

"Well I've been thinking about it," Harry said. "There's this person who's been following me, it's really strange, and since I'm alone, I might as well talk to myself. Maybe it'll help me think.

"There are only two reasons why I could imagine someone following me. Three, I guess, but I'm pretty confident there aren't any Death Eaters at Hogwarts. The first reason is that the person was looking for dirt on me, but I've been good this year, and besides, the only person who'd want to do that has been remarkable civil towards me this year, and I find it unlikely. Maybe he'd want to sell something to the _Prophet_, but I think he's smarter than that. One slanderous piece would hardly be new or relevant, given my reputation.

"The other reason would be to get me back for following this person, say, two years ago, but that was a single person, and so if that was true, it would have to be him. But I had followed him because I was legitimately concerned about Death Eaters, and if it was that person, and he was just trying to get back at me, that'd be pretty obnoxious. Then again, he is known to be obnoxious. So maybe it is him.

"Huh," Harry mused. "I guess that leaves it to that one person. I still want to know why, but at least I know who. I'll have to thank him, for helping to keep me warm. Rather kind of him, especially given that he's been trailing me for nearly a week now.

"Interesting, actually, that the following started so suddenly. There must've been something special about Monday. Dunno what, though. I guess I'll ask him, next time I see him. I'm not mad at him, just confused. Plus I had some fun, trying to trick him and playing the game. I don't think that warrants a thank you, that'd just be awkward, 'Thanks for following me around, good times', but it wouldn't hurt to let him know I'm not angry."

Harry thought. He had the opportunity to tell Malfoy anything he wanted, sort of, without repercussions, probably. He'd said a lot already, maybe more than he should have, but was there anything else?

"I'll have to tell him how sorry I am for something I did sixth year," Harry said. "I accidentally hurt him, really badly, and I've felt horrible about it ever since. I never meant to, I didn't know what the spell did. That's no excuse, I know, but I wasn't thinking."

The invisible person who wasn't Malfoy had slowly been tensing, but at that he froze entirely.

"And I'd want him to know that everything I said about him earlier is true. I do want to be his friend. I don't hold anything against him. I miss our banter, too, and that's really stupid, but, well, it was sort of fun, in a masochistic sort of way. Plus it was our only contact, and now he just ignores me." Harry sighed quietly and he knew he needed to stop now, right now, but apparently that wasn't happening. "Not that I want him to be a prat, but friends? Yeah. That'd be good."

The invisible person who wasn't Malfoy's hands tightened on Harry's, and he smiled, and maybe it was the warmth, or the cold, or that it did kind of seem like he was talking to himself, but he started stroking the invisible hands, running his fingers across them, twining them together. The invisible person who wasn't Malfoy sighed contentedly.

"Maybe more than that."

_Oh fucking Christ_. He had _not_ meant to say that, not even a _little _bit and hadn't even been _thinking_ it because it was incredibly, mind numbingly _stupid_ and there was no way on _earth _he was going to admit to something like that, not even to _himself_. Or Hermione that one time. He immediately stilled his fingers, and the invisible person who wasn't Malfoy tensed again, and Harry had ruined everything, like always.

Well. Fuck that. He'd already said it, might as well live with it.

"I don't know exactly when it started," Harry said, eyes closed, feeling a little faint. "But I guess somewhere along the lines whatever we had sort of escalated and I don't know, probably not, but maybe, probably, it did, and I'm just too scared to tell him, and to tell myself. Hermione told me to tell him, but whatever. I like him, I guess, more than friends. It doesn't matter, he'd never feel that way about me, so it's not like I'm going to tell him. If I did, I'd definitely be more coherent than just muttering to myself alone in the woods."

The invisible person who wasn't Malfoy spoke again, quietly, and oddly choked, "What would you say?"

Harry froze. "I—uh—well, I haven't really thought it out. I've never asked out a guy before. Plus he probably hates me. I suppose, maybe, 'Hey, so, I've noticed we're not killing each other anymore, wanna go out sometime?'"

"He'd probably say yes," the invisible person who wasn't Malfoy said. "Rather, you've got the whole school wrapped around you finger, both genders. You'd be fine."

Harry started tapping his finger against the hand holding his. It was a nervous habit, and in this case really probably didn't help, but he wasn't aware he was doing it. "I'm just thinking to myself," he said. "I don't need a voice in the back of my head telling me what to do, not when Hermione fills that position so very nicely." It was getting very warm, and Harry was really confused and hopeful and unhappy and still cold even though it was warm. "It'd be something else entirely if this somehow got back to that person, but Hermione's sworn up and down she won't say anything, and I'm not about to, so I guess he'll never find out. Definitely for the better. He'd just laugh at me."

The invisible hands once again twined their fingers together, and Harry's heart jumped and his stomach clenched and that was not okay, except that it might have been quite nice. "He wouldn't laugh," the invisible person who wasn't Malfoy said. "He wouldn't be mad, or laugh, or any of that nonsense. He'd say yes, I'm sure, and then you'd both be happy instead of spending your time walking around the castle in the middle of the night. That's a pretty daft thing to do, don't you think? Trying to trick and trap each other, only someone stupid and desperate would do that. Someone who's been interested in you for a long time but couldn't say anything."

"I—er—why would he be following me around in the first place?" Harry asked.

The invisible person who wasn't Malfoy sighed angrily. "I just _told _you, Potter. He's probably been interested in you for a long time but didn't have the balls to say anything because he's a cowardly prat who got messed up in all the wrong things and wouldn't ever be forgiven, especially by him. He wouldn't be able to tell you, or even extend any sort of friendship, so the only thing he'd be able to do is follow you."

"Well I said he did," Harry replied huffily. "I mean I did. Forgive him, I mean. I told you—myself, I mean, I told myself that. Since nobody's here with me, I'd definitely have just told myself. I'd have to wait for a sign from him, something more than not being a prick all the time. Maybe he's just mellowed out; it's not like I'm the only one who's being treated better. Everyone is. I'm nothing special."

"What would you like him to do?"

"Um, well, when talking to myself, I sometimes think about him cornering me after potions and just kissing me. Talking with him is so awkward, I don't think we've ever exchanged a civil word, that sort of conversation would be too much. I'd have so much to explain. I just ran through that, though, and I hate it when I get trapped in circular logic, so that's that."

"He might have a lot to tell you, too," the invisible person who wasn't Malfoy said. "Like he's sorry for being a prat, and he didn't mean to get so wrapped up in the war, it just sort of happened, and by the time he realized what was going on, Voldemort had complete control over him and his family. He'd say that he forgives you for that thing in sixth year. He hated you for almost killing him for a while, but so much happened since then, you even saved his life, one stray curse doesn't matter anymore. He'd say that he never really hated you, that you were the one who was a prat and didn't accept his friendship, that he'd been waiting for you to change your mind about him and if that degenerated into being a prick, that was a mistake, too."

"Well," Harry said carefully, trying to keep up with the conversation when he couldn't think or breathe. "That wouldn't mean he likes me, not like that. It'd be great to be friends, but I want more, and it might just be easier to keep it like it is and not get hurt, rather than make everything weird and awkward and go back to the days of cursing and hexing and hating."

"You said you wanted him to ask you out?" the invisible person who wasn't Malfoy said. "How do you expect him to know that if, as you've said, you've been enemies the whole time?"

This was a question Harry had thought about a lot, and he still didn't have an answer. "I don't know."

"Then maybe you should be the one to do the kissing," the invisible person who wasn't Malfoy said. "Since he can't possibly know how you feel."

"I have a suspicion he might know by now," Harry said. "I think I might be talking to myself a bit loudly, and I think he heard."

"Maybe he did," the invisible person who wasn't Malfoy said quietly. "Maybe he's confused because of all that enemies business, and because he never thought you could possibly feel the same way."

"Well, if he happens to be in earshot of my musings, then he'd know now," Harry said nervously. He was very aware they were still holding hands, he was wrapped in his arms, and was leaning on his chest.

"Well maybe you're facing in the wrong direction," the invisible person who wasn't Malfoy said irritably. "Maybe he's been _trying_ for the past several minutes but couldn't bloody _reach_."

Very slowly and very carefully, Harry turned around. He thought they were face to face, but Malfoy was still invisible, and he couldn't tell. The arm that was wrapped around his shoulder moved so the invisible hand was on the back of his neck, the other still in Harry's hand. Harry closed his eyes—there wasn't any point in not since Malfoy was invisible—and then Malfoy's breath was on his face and the hand on his neck was pushing him forward and then, so gently, his lips brushed something invisible, something that felt an awful lot like another pair of lips.

The invisible person who wasn't Malfoy pulled away, just slightly, leaning his forehead on Harry's. "What did you think was going to happen after the kiss?"

"I—er—" Harry couldn't think. "He'd tell me he likes me."

"I like you."

"In that way, not just as friends."

"I do."

Harry was suddenly very impatient; he wanted to kiss him again but he couldn't see him, he wanted to call him by his name but they were still playing that stupid game, and he wanted this all to be official and it was so far from that, it was infuriating.

"Then I'd want him to stop being invisible," Harry said crossly. "I want to see him."

Both of the invisible hands disappeared, and Harry saw the cloak being moved around, a pocket was pushed out, and a vial floated through the air. Its liquid poured into nothing and then Malfoy sat before him. His eyes were wide and he looked just as nervous as Harry felt and it was the most adorable thing Harry had ever seen.

"And then?" Malfoy asked.

"And then you'd kiss me again and ask me out properly," Harry said, forcing himself to be brave, even when he could see Malfoy, even when the possibility of rejection was so much worse.

Malfoy's hand returned to the back of his head, pulled him forward and they kissed again, still very gently. Harry wanted passion, or so he had thought—had imagined—but this was actually better, a lot better. Who'd have thought?

Malfoy pulled away again. "Go out with me," he said bluntly. "Be my boyfriend."

"Yeah," Harry replied, a stupid, silly grin crossing his face. "Yeah, I'd love to."

Malfoy eyed him. "You're sure? This isn't some sort of delirium brought on by freezing to death?"

"Not as far as I can tell," Harry replied. "I mean, I couldn't see you until a few moments ago, and that was a little weird, plus I think you've been stalking me, and you said things that do make me think I might be going crazy. Then again, I can feel this," he said, squeezing his hand. "I dunno, Malfoy. Is this real?"

"It's real for me," Malfoy said, and it would have sounded scathing if he weren't so nervous.

"Yeah, me too," Harry replied.

"Then you should probably kiss me again," Malfoy said. "And call me Draco, if we're going to be dating."

Harry smiled. "Draco, then." He kissed him again, and then it was more passionate, mouths opening and tongues dueling and when they broke apart, they were both flushed and short of breath.

"As much as I'd love to continue this for the rest of the night, it might be wise to figure out a way to get inside before we get frostbite," Draco said.

"If you hadn't noticed, I tried," Harry replied. "It didn't work."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You walked into the barrier, and then you threw rocks at it, and splashed some water down the side. I think there may be other alternatives."

"Then go ahead," Harry said irritably. "You do something."

Draco took out his wand and twirled it, thinking. "_Apertum_." A blue light jetted from his wand and slammed into the wall. It spread into a circle, then vanished.

"Hang on, wait a second," Harry said, suddenly feeling very bright. He touched the tip of his wand to the invisible wall and said, "Harry James Potter, eighth year Gryffindor." The wall shimmered and for a second Harry thought it had worked. Then it solidified again, and, once he removed his wand, vanished.

"Brilliant, Potter," Draco said snidely. "Even you aren't that important."

"Shut up," Harry said mildly. "And it's Harry, by the way. I thought that'd be obvious, but maybe you aren't as clever as I thought."

"Harry, then," Draco replied. "Harry, you're not that important."

Harry rolled his eyes. He cast a quick _Tempus_ charm. "Four. Maybe we should try to get some sleep and figure this out when we're freshly rested and it's light out."

"You just want to snuggle," Draco said.

"That, too," Harry said with a smile.

Much to his surprise Draco smiled back. Harry didn't think that had ever happened before. "Alright then. Come here."

Harry sat back down, sliding into Draco's arms and pulling up their throw and cloak blanket. "Goodnight, I suppose."

Draco kissed the top of his head. Who knew he was a cuddler, too. "Night, then."

Harry had closed his eyes for approximately twenty seconds when Draco shook him. "Harry, look. Someone's coming."

He opened his eyes. There was indeed someone striding towards them, black robes billowing in the wind and, even from a distance, wearing a very stern expression. "I think it's Professor McGonagall," Harry said. "That's almost good."

"Hey!" Draco yelled, waving his arms. "Get us out of here!"

There was no response so, completely logically, Harry tried.

"Professor, help! We got stuck!"

The closer she got the angrier she looked. Harry felt a little bit like running back into the forest but he stayed where he was. Then she was right in front of them, yelling something they couldn't hear, and traced an arc in the air with her wand. The wall reappeared and a door opened.

"—_can't believe you two did this! At four in the morning, no less! I was asleep, boys, did that ever occur to you? That I might not want to be dragged out of bed by a security alarm going off? The Forbidden Forest is strictly out of bounds! You both know this! What on earth possessed you to go for a walk in the snow in the middle of the night? And Potter, _in a tee shirt?_ You have got to be kidding me!"_

"Sorry, Professor," Harry said quietly.

"Sorry doesn't begin to cover it," she said angrily. "Get up and get inside."

"Yes, Professor," Draco replied. He gathered his coat and put it back on while Harry wrapped himself in the throw blanket. They followed her up to the castle in silence, and the Front Hall was deliciously, incredibly warm. Professor McGonagall's expression, however, was exceedingly cold.

"Thirty points from each of your houses," she said angrily. "Detention for a week. You're only getting off so lightly because I'm tired and I want to be back in bed. Needless to say, you must return to your houses this instant. I have been very lenient towards students out of bed at night, especially to you, Mr. Potter, but this is unacceptable."

"Yes, Professor," Harry and Draco said together.

"Well?" she snapped. "Aren't you going to go?"

Harry and Draco glanced at each other.

"I'll see you around, then?" Harry asked.

"Suppose so," Draco replied indifferently. "Whatever."

Harry fidgeted under Professor McGonagall's gaze. "Oh, screw it, we're in enough trouble as it is." He took Draco's face in his hands and kissed him soundly. "Tomorrow, then."

Draco gaped at him. "I—yeah."

Professor McGonagall stared at them. "Yes, well," she stammered. "Off to bed, both of you."

"Yes, Professor."

**The end.**

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